This is my first attempt at a poem in iambic pentameter. It is in sonnet form. If it is correct I would like to Thank Andrea for her time and patience, Eileen for her time and example and Sandra for her example. I think I got it.
My parents fed me from the bread of life I ate each day until I had my fill They both worked hard so they could pay the price And taught me not to lie and not to steal One day I packed my bag and picked a road With suitcase full of values gifted me And let me tell you they are quite a load I dragged them up a hill so I could see Looking 'cross the valley of the shadows I saw the place that I would like to go A garden on the hill, past the meadow My bag became my cross, my heavy load Their souls have been ingrained into this cross It's up to me to carry it across an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
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